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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587269">Like a Moth to You, Sunlight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dee_lirious/pseuds/dee_lirious'>dee_lirious</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Daycare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Romantic Comedy, no beta we die like liberty with thunderous applause, this was an excuse to highlight all my faves and also dunk on anakin a little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:41:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dee_lirious/pseuds/dee_lirious</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Din misses his shot, and one time he doesn't. Or, the daycare AU that no one asked for. </p><p>Featuring many members of Luke Skywalker’s very nosy family.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>537</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Like a Moth to You, Sunlight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabundanceofjoy/gifts">anabundanceofjoy</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was possessed by a specter and furiously wrote most of this over a week, exclusively during the 8pm-2am block. </p><p>This is a (late by one day) birthday gift for Melissa, who encouraged me when this was just a half-formed crack concept that I had no intention of fleshing out. Happy birthday, dear. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>1.</p><p>Rationally, Luke knows that he chose to become a daycare teacher, and then a small business owner, of his own volition. But it’s hard to remember all the thoughtful career planning he did in college when he’s running on four hours of sleep, three gulps of burnt instant coffee, and what he <em> hopes </em> is just a two day-old wad of craft glue in his hair from the last time the kids made popsicle art.</p><p>It’s nearly March, but still stubbornly freezing and practically pitch-dark at just past six-thirty in the morning. Luke tenses against the chill that creeps in past the edges of his scarf, and attempts to lever clumsily out of his car without losing his grip on his keys, his phone, his two backpacks, his lunchbox, or his tote bag filled with fruit roll-ups and loose Legos. The whole block is still mostly dark, the street lights having automatically shut off a half hour ago, so that he can just barely see the outline of Skywalker Academy—a single-story, sandy-bricked building; its tall, arched windows decorated with colorful children’s artwork and informational flyers.</p><p>“Kriff, kriff, kriff,” Luke chants under his breath, feeling the straps slipping off his shoulder as he jiggles the keychain around to find the one to the front doors by touch. He hopes that this won’t be the morning his boots skid on the frosty cement and send him tumbling. “Fu—kriff, thank god,” he corrects out of habit, when the door finally swings open with a jingle and he’s swallowed up by the heated air inside, smelling distinctly like acrylic paint, plastic toys and the inoffensive powdery scent of kid-safe disinfectant.</p><p>He drops most of his bags in the entryway just in time for his phone to start ringing. It’s Leia’s ringtone, of course. “Shit—I mean, <em> kriff.” </em></p><p>“Oh good, you’re lucid, I need a favor,” Leia says in lieu of a greeting. She sounds distracted, and there’s some muffled clattering in the background, as if she’s shuffling her ubiquitous stack of laptop-tablet-notebooks-leather binders from one purse to another.</p><p>“Barely. Not to sound like a complete cartoon,” Luke says groggily, “but Mondays are the kriffin’ worst.” He’s ignoring the last part for now. </p><p>After shoving his bags into a slightly more orderly pile against the wall, he starts going through the process of opening up for the day mostly on autopilot: walking through the two main classrooms and flicking on lights, straightening up the kid-sized chairs, wiping down the desks. He’s cutting it a little close this morning, and knows that at least a couple of the early drop-off kids will be arriving any minute. “Ugh, how is there always karking glitter on this karking table?”</p><p>Leia hums over the sound of more clattering, the sound of dishes being shoved around, and faint toddler babbling. “You know, it kind of defeats the purpose of substitute curse-words when you use them in every other sentence that comes out of your mouth.”</p><p>“I’m working on it,” Luke says, and hears her echo it in tandem under her breath. “Okay, smartass, what’s up? You sound like you’re rushing.”</p><p>“I am, I have that meeting—the one I was telling you about?”</p><p>“The one you’ve rescheduled twice,” Luke nods, ducking behind the front desk to check for missed phone calls and emails. He has a part-time secretary, Finn—a very charming young man and freshman education major at the local community college—but he won’t be in for a couple of hours, leaving the unfortunate job of responding to parents’ half-incoherent, last-minute messages to Luke.</p><p>“Yeah, that one. I can’t move it again, or Uncle Bail will actually murder me—” </p><p>Luke snorts, “He won’t, you’re his favorite,” which Leia pretends like she doesn’t hear.</p><p>“—Han’s still out of town, and Mom and Dad <em> just </em> cancelled on me, like, ten minutes ago! An <em> impromptu day trip, </em>is what Mom said.”</p><p>“Whoa, wait, are they back together again? When did that happen!” </p><p>Luke glances up from copy and pasting a form email when the front door jingles. It’s Grogu Djarin and his father, the former bundled up in the tiniest, puffiest jacket so that only his wide green ears and big eyes are visible—a sight that never fails to make Luke smile. </p><p>The latter isn’t too hard on the eyes either, though Luke buries the thought as quickly as it surfaces.</p><p>“Good morning,” Din says, voice pitched low in deference to his phone call and the early hour.</p><p><em> Good morning, </em>he mouths at them, and waves them in as Leia audibly grins in his ear, eager to lord gossip over his head. “You know how they went on that ‘meditation retreat’ with Uncle Ben last month?”</p><p>Although it had been confusing and hurtful when they’d been kids, the various dramatics of Padmé and Anakin’s marriage—the fights, the counseling, the subsequent honeymoon phases—had become normal and even amusing over time. As they’ve all mellowed with age, it’s become a source of gentle teasing for their circle of family and friends—the <em> Obi-Wan thing </em> being one of the most salacious aspects in recent years. In truth, Luke feels no little relief that Leia can joke about it now; her relationship with Anakin in particular had been strained when they’d been teenagers, and he doesn’t relish the memory of playing middleman during their cold silences toward one another.</p><p>Not that it means Luke wants to hear actual <em> details </em> about his parents’ <em> sex life. </em> “Never mind, <em> please </em> don’t tell me.” </p><p>Idly, he watches in his periphery as Grogu sheds his many layers of winter clothing and places them one-by-one into his cubby under his father’s patient eye, careful not to tear the fabric with his clawed fingers. </p><p>Din Djarin apparently works long, demanding hours, and is often the first to drop-off and one of the last to pick-up—something that he clearly feels some guilt over, tangible to Luke each time he wearily greets his son after a full ten- or even twelve-hour day. But he’s clearly a very diligent and caring parent, something Luke wishes he could convey to the man without sounding too intrusive or, worse, pitying.</p><p>“I think it’s nice,” Leia teases, in a sickly sweet, faux-innocent voice because she’s horrible and has made a life-long sport out of torturing him. “It’s like sex counciling for the elderly—”</p><p>“I <em> hate </em> knowing you,” Luke hisses into his phone, flushing in embarrassment and lowering his voice when he notices Din raise an eyebrow at him from across the room. “When I disown you, you can have Obi-Wan <em> and </em> Bail, if I never have to hear you talk about our parents and S-E-X ever again.”</p><p>“Bold of you to assume they wouldn’t pick me anyway, prude,” Leia retorts primly.</p><p>“Weren’t you calling for a favor? From your unlovable, prudish brother?” The question becomes rhetorical as Luke mentally rewinds the conversation and groans. “Leia, you really can’t keep bringing Ben to the Academy on no notice! He doesn’t have the paperwork!”</p><p>“<em> Please, </em> Luke! I’ll have all the forms filled out next time, but this is an <em> emergency. </em>And he’s your nephew! He misses you!”</p><p>The blatant manipulation is a low blow, precisely because it works every time. Luke’s already resigned to giving in, and then Leia twists the knife: “Here, Benny! Tell Uncle Luke how much you want to play with him today!”</p><p>A momentary rustle, and then: <em> “Unca!!” </em> comes Ben’s tinny voice over the line, excited and shrill and beloved.</p><p>“See?” Leia says.</p><p>Luke has drifted into the doorway of his classroom, he realizes, unconsciously trailing after the Djarins. A glance back into the hallway shows that Ahsoka, who’s the Academy’s only other full-time employee, has arrived, as well as Ezra, who assists them in wrangling the morning classes. His staff is rounded out with Finn and Sabine, his assistant teacher in the afternoons—just enough hands to care for two classrooms full of toddlers on a daily basis, as well as haphazardly manage all the administrative minutiae of running an independent daycare.</p><p>There’s another jingle as the front doors open again, likely signaling that the morning drop-off rush is starting imminently.</p><p>Pitching his voice a little lower, Luke hedges into the phone, “I<em> really </em> shouldn’t…”</p><p>Leia, not a budding politician for nothing, switches tack, “Don’t make me blackmail you, Skywalker.”</p><p>Luke scoffs, and lies: “You got nothing, Skywalker.”</p><p>“Han told me about the Pool Table Incident,” she retorts immediately. Luke can hear the capitalization, as well as her obvious glee at being able to play this card.</p><p>Luke splutters a high-pitched, affronted noise, and swallows against the memory-sense taste of alcohol and stale frat house carpet. He still can’t drink fireballs, especially not the version of the drink that Chewie makes, which should be legally classified as jet fuel. “Ugh. <em> Ugh. </em> Don’t even say it! <em> Kriff </em>, I had a gag reflex before that night.”</p><p>There’s a strangled noise from the other side of the room. Simultaneously, his sister crows into his ear, much too loud for seven in the morning as she senses her victory. “I’ll tell everyone,” Leia promises cheerfully. “<em> Everyone. </em> I’ll tell <em> Grandma Shmi.” </em></p><p>“Someday when you’re running for office, I’m gonna publish a tell-all hit-piece on you,” Luke promises. “You’re so lucky I’m your brother, or else you’d have to take him to Hondo Ohnaka’s daycare and Obi-Wan would never speak to you again. You <em> owe </em> me, Leia. <em> Again.” </em></p><p>Luke rolls his eyes at Leia’s subsequent, overdramatic thanks, glancing over at the only other people in the room. Grogu has clearly settled in near the toy chest already, babbling distractedly in response to his father’s quiet fussing, all his attention focused on a set of plastic frogs he’s chosen out of the bin, which Luke knows are his favorites. Din finishes fiddling with the hem of the child’s shirt and stands up, his face a little flushed when he glances over at Luke.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, good<em>bye, </em> Leia,” Luke hastily hangs up, self-consciously aware that he hasn’t exactly been at his most professional so far this morning, though luckily Din isn’t among the parents who seem to care much about that sort of thing. “Everything alright, Mr. Djarin?”</p><p>Din clears his throat, and doesn’t quite meet Luke’s eyes. “‘M fine,” he gruffs. “Be good today, kid,” he tells his son, softly. He gives Luke a brief nod on his way out.</p><p>“Uh, bye!” Luke manages, a beat too late, after Din’s already left the room. “What was that about, huh?” he asks Grogu. </p><p>“Ah-bah,” Grogu says, and clacks two of his frogs together reproachfully.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>2.</p><p>Thursdays are the only days Luke allows himself to leave the Academy before six o’clock, and even then, he doesn’t consistently take advantage of them and always feels irrationally guilty about it when he does. He has plans to join Biggs for a pick-up soccer game at four, but it’s already three-forty, and little Remy is currently in the middle of a minor meltdown, clinging desperately to his shirt as she screams.</p><p>“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Luke chants softly to the Rodian girl, trying to gently loosen the iron-grip of her tiny suction-tipped fingers before she can hurt herself. “Maybe I’ll stay,” he sighs, helplessly.</p><p>“No way, Luke.”</p><p>Luke startles, having missed Ahsoka’s entrance into his classroom underneath Remy’s cries. “Sorry,” he says, “Sorry, we didn’t wake up anyone in your class, did we?”</p><p>Ahsoka waves the apology aside. “You’re already dressed and everything; you’re <em> going.” </em></p><p>Luke sighs, runs a hand through his already-mussed hair. It’s true, he’d changed from his all-black—and thus mostly stain-proof—work clothes into a thinner tee and athletic shorts in preparation to head out the door, but that was exactly what had upset Remy. The girl’s grandfather had passed away unexpectedly a few weeks ago, and she’s been having separation anxiety every morning this week at drop-off. The fact that Luke leaving is similarly triggering her tantrum is an unwelcome development. Luke’s chest twinges in worry even as she starts to quiet down in his arms, her hitching cries fading into hiccups as she runs out of steam.</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“No,” Ahsoka insists, gently admonishing him: “C’mon, Skyguy Junior, you know better.”</p><p>Luke <em> does </em>know better. It won’t help Remy in the long run to bow to his new fear. He’d already explained to her why he had to leave early today and she had said she’d understood. This panic is brief and will pass, and when she sees Luke again tomorrow morning, unharmed, it’ll only help her to overcome this anxiety.</p><p>“I know,” he mumbles, looking down into Remy’s swollen eyes; her drooping antennae. Just because it makes sense doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept. “And don’t call me that.”</p><p>“When you act dumb like Anakin, you get called out like Anakin,” Ahsoka says, a familiar refrain from Luke’s childhood. Her montrals twitch, and she leans out into the hallway. “Ah, Mr. Djarin, you’re early today!”</p><p>Luke jolts. “Din! I mean, Mr. Djarin! Hi! You’re early!”</p><p>He winces at his superfluous outburst—not only does Din obviously know that, but he’d been the one to tell <em> Luke </em> his morning that he’d be picking up early today. It doesn’t help that Din looks <em> good </em> this afternoon, not as tired as he usually does at pick-up, and dressed comfortably in well-worn jeans and a leather jacket, his curls gently tousled as he enters the classroom. The man seems a little startled, obviously unprepared for Ahsoka’s presence and Remy’s obvious displeasure, his eyes wide. <em> They’re really brown, </em>Luke thinks, nonsensically.</p><p>“You can call me Din,” he offers, kindly ignoring Luke’s blatant staring, an awkward, closed-mouthed smile on his face.</p><p>“I can do that,” Luke says, flustered. He’s abruptly aware of how casually he’s dressed. <em> How unprofessional. Get a hold of yourself, Skywalker. </em>“Um, hold on, sorry, we’re all running a little behind today.” He turns and bends over to set Remy down in her seat, now that she seems willing to let go of him. </p><p>There’s a momentary pause, and then Din says, “...No problem,” sounding raspier than usual. He clears his throat. </p><p>Ahsoka makes a noise like a cross between a snort and a scoff, and steps further into the classroom. “I can handle getting Grogu all packed up, and I’ll make sure Sabine checks on Remy a few times before the end of the day. You’ve got a change of clothes?” she asks, which Luke would chalk up to her usual motherhenning, but he recognizes that particular lilt in his voice as a harbinger of mischief.</p><p>“Uh, no?” Luke says, warily. While it’s true that he won’t want to put his work clothes back on after the game, it seems like an uncharacteristically specific detail for Ahsoka to badger him over, now that he’s an adult and technically her boss. Then again, she’s known him since he was born, has been an aunt and babysitter and trusted confidant, and still occasionally regresses into babying him. “But I’ve got some stuff I left over at Biggs’ apartment.”</p><p>“You’re going back to his place tonight,” Ahsoka says, still smiling, making it sound like a leading question despite phrasing it as a statement.</p><p>“Yeah? Of course.” He and Biggs usually grab takeout after a game and watch whatever garbage reality series they’re hung up on, which Luke thought Ahsoka knew. He double checks that he has his keys and phone, quickly glancing at the time as he slings his bags over his shoulder. “Alright, if you’re really okay without me, I think I can make it in time without breaking any traffic laws.”</p><p>“Oh, we’re <em> great,” </em> Ahsoka chuckles.</p><p>When he glances up from his phone, he’s startled to see Ahsoka grinning openly and typing something into her own mobile, while Din frowns at him—though he glances away hastily when Luke makes eye contact.</p><p>Luke hesitates, feeling guilty once again. “Din, I really am sorry for not having Grogu ready in time. I know you’re both eager to get home.” Though Grogu, for his part, has been happily engrossed in a picture book for the better part of an hour, and has barely acknowledged any of the adults in the room.</p><p>If anything, that makes Din’s frown deeper. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, sounding, of all things, contrite. “...You should get going. Wouldn’t want to keep, uh, <em> Biggs </em> waiting.”</p><p>The way Din says it is a little odd, like there’s some sort of question in the sentence that Luke can’t parse. Then again, Din has never tended towards a lot of small talk with the Academy’s staff, or with Luke in particular. Not that Luke blames the man for not lingering at his son’s daycare, working the hours that he does.</p><p>Luke smiles in what he hopes is a normal, neutral fashion. “Yeah, he can be a real bear about it,” he says, rolling his eyes fondly. Biggs really <em> is </em> going to tease him for being late, and badger him again about being such a boring workaholic.</p><p>Ahsoka gives Luke a gentle shove towards the door, looking like she’s stifling laughter. “You’re lucky you’re cute, bud. Now get going already.”</p><p>Luke rolls his eyes. “Thanks, ‘Soka. Have a good night. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” he tells his class, who chatter their goodbyes back at him, and to Din, “You too.”</p><p>Din returns his smile with a soft, polite one of his own, which Luke tries and fails not to think about for the rest of the night.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>3.</p><p>While Monday mornings are bad for all the expected reasons, Friday afternoons can certainly give them a run for their money. Luke had started the day with a burst of residual energy—surprising, given that he’d binged half a pizza, three beers and five episodes of <em> The Bachelorette </em>before passing out on Biggs’ couch the night before—but had quickly started to crash in the early afternoon as they rushed to tie up all the loose ends before the weekend. All of that to say: Luke finds himself, as he does more nights than not, staying at work later than he’d anticipated, overwhelmed and guilty that he once again hasn’t managed to catch up with the Academy’s administrative tasks despite his best intentions.</p><p>He had sent Finn and Ahsoka home a while ago, having already kept them past their official hours. Sabine, however, had put her foot down, refusing to let Luke pull any of his “self-sacrificing bantha-poo,” and shooed Luke out to the receptionist’s desk. There, at least, he can sit down to finish his paperwork, rather than try to do it while simultaneously cleaning up finger-paint stains, as is his first instinct.</p><p>Luke grumps about it, but can only be grateful for Sabine’s help—he unfortunately <em> does </em> need both his hands to send emails and make sure that his staff will be paid on time, after all.</p><p>“How are you doing, Sabine?” he calls as he tries to work out the most polite way to inform a particularly pushy parent that <em> yes, they do in fact need to schedule a one-on-one meeting rather than try to spend twenty minutes during drop-off discussing the minutiae of their child’s daily schedule. </em></p><p>“We’re <em> fine, </em> Luke,” Sabine replies, sounding amused. “Isn’t that right, boys?”</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>“<em>Patoo!” </em></p><p>“See? Mind your business, Skywalker.”</p><p>Luke grins despite himself, and accepts the gentle chiding. Nearly all the kids are gone, and it’s only Ben and Grogu left—the former of whom is officially registered this time, to his relief—but it’s an ingrained habit to always be checking on the kids, regardless of what else he’s got in front of him.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Luke chuckles, and finishes their accounting for the week, relieved that Ahsoka has completed most of it already. The couple of financial courses he’d taken in undergrad, while theoretically helpful, aren’t the same as actually keeping up with a real business. Though the Academy is now three years old and has gotten over most of the early stumbling blocks, Luke would be the first to admit that he’s relied heavily on the support and experience of his friends and family—Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, Bail and Padmé, just to name a few.</p><p>The bell above the front door jingles, and Luke glances up to see Han casually saunter inside, as if he isn’t nearly an hour late.</p><p>“You’re looking very calm for someone who’s going to be murdered by my sister tonight,” Luke comments. </p><p>Predictably, Han doesn’t falter. He leans heavily against Luke’s desk, hip cocked exaggeratedly. “I’m just giving Ben some extra playtime. Hey Benny!” he maintains eye contact with Luke as he calls into the classroom behind them, unrepentant and grinning. </p><p>“Daddy!” comes the answering yell, followed by the pattering of little footsteps.</p><p>“Ben, don’t run!” Sabine calls after him, followed by a quieter, “Oh no, Grogu, <em> please </em> don’t put that in your mouth.”</p><p>Luke huffs a laugh as Ben comes barreling down the hallway and rams headfirst into Han’s legs. At four years old, Luke’s nephew is no longer technically a toddler, but the kid arguably still has a shaky grasp on his limbs and wraps both fists in the fabric of Han’s pantleg to stabilize himself. “Daddy,” Ben says triumphantly, heedless of Han’s protective hand coming to rest on his forehead.</p><p>“Hey, kiddo. You miss your old man?” </p><p>“Yes!” Ben declares, and lifts his arms expectantly, looking satisfied when Han swings him up into the cradle of his arms.</p><p>“I drew a thing,” he tells Han very seriously.</p><p>“Oh yeah? You wanna show me, and we can take it home?”</p><p>Ben seems to think very seriously about this for a few seconds, before nodding decisively. “Yes, please. Then I can show Mommy.”</p><p>Luke smiles at the sight, helplessly charmed. He’s known Han since the man was a scruffy college junior, skipping half his classes and perpetually hungover—this mature, parent version of his best friend hasn’t yet ceased to be both jarringly and sweetly miraculous.</p><p>“Why don’t you go and pack up your bag, Ben?” Luke suggests, before his nephew can launch into a full description of his drawing. “You guys’ll be late for dinner soon.”</p><p>“Okay,” Ben agrees, then, after another moment’s deliberation: “You can talk about boring stuff now.”</p><p>Han shoots Luke a grateful look, and sets his son down so that Ben can toddle his way back into his classroom without a glance backwards.</p><p>“I love that kid,” Luke says.</p><p>“Yeah, he’s alright,” Han snorts then asks, quieter, “How’d he do today?” the little crease between his eyes a hallmark trait of first-time daycare parents all over—nevermind that Ben’s spent at least half a dozen days at the Academy unofficially. “He settle in alright?”</p><p>“Ben’s perfectly fine, I promise,” Luke reassures, smothering a laugh and putting on his placid caretaker face. “He was a little nervous this morning, but got into the activities pretty quickly. Went down for his nap without any problems. And he seems to be getting along well with everyone.”</p><p>Luke’s assessment is proven true when, after several minutes, Ben still hasn’t reemerged.</p><p>“How we doing, buddy?” Han calls, “You ready to go home?”</p><p>“Can’t leave yet!” Ben yells back. “Grogu will be lonely!”</p><p>Sabine pops her head into the hallway, apologetic. “Sorry, they refuse to be separated, I’m afraid,” she says with a chuckle, “They’re already best friends.”</p><p>Han raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”</p><p>Luke says. “Grogu shared his snacks today.” At Han’s enquiring headshake, he clarifies, “He’s the most food-motivated child I’ve ever met. Believe me, those kids are gonna be friends for the rest of their lives.”</p><p>He and Han share a look—relieved and a bit disbelieving. Ben’s always tended more toward shyness and introspection than most children; more comfortable with the adults in his immediate family than with those his own age. It’s comforting to Luke, as both Ben’s uncle and caretaker, that he’s handled the transition to daycare smoothly.</p><p>“The kids were actually the <em> least </em> stressful part of today,” Luke sighs, patting his paperwork.</p><p>“Yeah, I gotta say: you look like shit, kid,” Han tells him, leaning onto the receptionist’s desk as obstructively as possible, and making a mess of Luke’s admittedly already-messy piles, ignoring Luke’s glare.</p><p>“You’re a real charmer, Solo,” Luke tells him, flicking first at Han’s elbow and then his face when the taller man slouches in closer as if to head-butt him. “Han!”</p><p>The front door dings as it opens, admitting Din at the same moment Luke shoves his open palm into Han’s cackling face. “Hi, Mr. Djarin! Behave, heathen—oh yuck, did you really<em> lick </em> my hand? How old are you!”</p><p>“Still older than you,” Han says cheerfully, and waggles his eyebrows. “I can bite, if that’s preferable.”</p><p>He snorts fondly at Han’s cock-sure smirk. “It’s a miracle you haven’t been punched in the face more,” Luke informs him.</p><p>Din glances back and forth between them, and offers Luke a polite nod. Luke feels a blush crawl up his neck and over his ears. “Sorry, Din, hi. Feel free to ignore him.”</p><p>“No problem,” Din says, and Luke resists the urge to shiver at the soft rumble of his voice, enticing and incongruous with the solid build of his body. “Sorry I’m late.” The implied <em> again </em> hangs between them.</p><p>“You’re perfect,” Luke says, and stumbles to add, “Perfectly on time, I mean. It’s really not that late.” It’s not strictly true; a glance at the time reveals that it’s a quarter past six already, the early spring sun receding quickly. But it’s not as if Luke wouldn’t have been here anyway, so why not comfort the attractive dad who’s clearly had just as long a day as Luke himself?</p><p>“Oh, but <em> I’m </em> an hour late—” Han starts to complain, because Leia was right, when he first introduced the two of them, that Luke has terrible taste in friends.</p><p>Luke claps a hand on Han’s arm probably harder than necessary as he stands from his desk chair, and tells Din, “I’ll just go and help Grogu get packed up, alright? He’s been hanging out with Sabine while I finish up here.”</p><p>He gives Han a warning glare on his way, and keeps an ear toward the lobby as he gathers Grogu. There’s a long few minutes of silence, and then:</p><p>“So, you’re Din.”</p><p>A loaded pause, then, defensively, “Yeah.”</p><p>“Pfft,” Sabine snorts, unrepentant when Luke narrows his eyes at her reproachfully. Not that he’s not also obviously eavesdropping.</p><p>“Ahsoka mentioned you,” Han drawls. Luke silently curses his family and their penchant for gossip. “Said Luke’s really taken with your, uh, kid.”</p><p>“...That’s nice,” Din says, clearly reluctant to participate in the small talk. “Luke’s a good teacher.”</p><p>Luke feels his ears warm at the complement.</p><p>“Yeah, he is,” Han says, like a challenge, which vaguely pings alarms in Luke’s head. He quickens his pace, wiping down Grogu’s hands and double-checking that his bag is zipped. “We’re all real lucky to have him, huh.”</p><p>“I guess you’d know.”</p><p>“What’s that mean?”</p><p>“You’re Biggs, right—”</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“Hey, Han!” Luke interrupts, hoping that he doesn’t sound as frantic and embarrassed as he feels, darting into the hallway with Grogu and his little backpack in his arms. “Ben’s about ready to go, too!”</p><p>As if on cue, Sabine leads Ben out by the hand—a gesture that Ben still allows at age four, though probably not for much longer—flipping the classroom lights off behind her. “Here we go, Ben. You ready for the weekend?”</p><p>Ben takes a minute to ponder the adults in the room. “Can I play with Grogu over the weekend?”</p><p>“Uh,” Han says.</p><p>“Uh,” Din says.</p><p>Luke intervenes when neither of them offer a follow-up. “I’m sure Grogu wants to spend some time with his dad this weekend, just like you want to spend time with your dad, right?”</p><p>Ben’s face scrunches up at this logic, but he shrugs. “I guess so.” Grogu babbles agreeably as Luke hands him off to Din.</p><p>“Gee, thanks, kid,” Han huffs, but obligingly lifts Ben up and tucks against his side, wincing a little when Ben worms his no-doubt chilly and potentially-sticky fingers under the collar of Han’s shirt.</p><p>“You good, kid?” Din murmurs to Grogu, brushing a finger against the curve of the child’s cheek. Grogu, unsurprisingly, doesn’t respond with words, but curls his clawed hands against Din’s palm with a smile. Din returns the expression—a soft-edged, private thing that Luke feels like he should look away from, but doesn’t—before he seems to remember that there are other adults in the room. “Uh, thanks,” he tells Luke and Sabine, “for watching him all day. And staying late.”</p><p>“It’s really no problem, Din,” Luke says. “Han here—my brother-in-law—he only just arrived a few minutes before you did.”</p><p>“Just doing our job, Mr. Djarin,” Sabine reassures. “Compared to some of the other little terrors? Grogu’s an angel.” Luke raises an eyebrow at her. “Uh, don’t tell any of the other parents I said that.”</p><p>Din huffs a laugh at them, snugging his son closer against his chest as he prepares to leave. “I won’t.” He hesitates, looking not unlike little Ben for a moment as he seems to deliberate what he’s about to say. “Luke… My schedule should be lighter next week. I’ll be working on a project in the neighborhood. I was going to… stop by during lunch. Say hi to the kid. That okay?”</p><p>Luke smiles. “Of course! I’m glad to hear it—and I’m sure Grogu would love to have you stop in.”</p><p>“And you?”</p><p>Luke blinks. “Me?”</p><p>Din stares at his face for what feels like a stretched out pause, his dark eyes searching. “When do you… I mean, when’s lunch? For the kids?”</p><p>The moment seems to snap back into place, leaving Luke feeling oddly bereft for a split-second. “Oh! Um, usually around eleven—and then they’ll have their midday nap,” Luke says, trying not to let his disappointment show. <em> Disappointment about what, </em> he scolds himself. <em> Get a hold of yourself. </em></p><p>“Alright.” Din clears his throat softly, starts moving towards the front door again. “Goodnight, Luke. Sabine.” A pause. “And, uh, nice to meet you,” he half-mutters to Han.</p><p>“Goodnight! Have a good weekend!” Luke chirps, a little too loud, and suppresses a wince.</p><p>“<em> Oof,” </em> Sabine mutters under her breath, as the front door closes behind the Djarins.</p><p>“Oh, this is interesting,” Han drawls, in that annoying way he likes to do, like he knows something that Luke doesn’t and is gonna use it to cause trouble.</p><p>“You’re tellin’ me,” Sabine says.</p><p>“What?” Luke asks, defensive.</p><p>“Nothing, kid,” Han chuckles. “C’mon Benny, let’s get you home to your Mom, huh?” </p><p>Ben pushes his face into Han’s torso and says, muffled through a mouthful of cotton, “Bye, Unca Luke.” </p><p>Han gives them a sloppy two-fingered salute as the door closes behind them. That infuriating smirk has only grown wider.</p><p>Luke has a bad feeling about this.</p><p><br/>
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<br/>
</p><p>4.</p><p>When Obi-Wan <em> and </em> Qui-Gon show up unannounced the following Tuesday, Luke starts to suspect that his family is up to something.</p><p>“No, get out,” he tells them, flatly, before Obi-Wan can even take off his hat. </p><p>They both ignore him, of course, with the unfortunately-common ease of people who have changed his diapers.</p><p>“Good morning, my dear,” Obi-Wan says cheerfully. He’s dressed in his usual shades of beige and brown, including the woolen professor’s cardigan that’s old enough to be Luke’s older sibling, complete with elbow patches. How the man manages to pull it off remains a mystery. Luke, who’s crouched next to the cubbies looking for a missing sock after calming a chain reaction of mild tantrums all morning, feels dusty and grimy in comparison.</p><p>Qui-Gon wordlessly hands Luke a large takeaway cup bearing the logo of Cody Fett’s coffee shop and starts to unwind the long, ratty scarf from his neck. He’s wearing sunglasses this morning; the large, thick pair with rhinestones on the sides that Luke remembers as a gag gift from Anakin that had inevitably backfired—he wears the ugly things at least twice a week. It’s nearly eleven in the morning, but as usual Qui-Gon seems to barely be awake, his own gigantic cup of what is surely oversteeped black tea in hand.</p><p>A glance down at their offering reveals a particularly dark roast coffee with a heavy pump of chocolate syrup—the drink that Luke always orders from Cody’s. The drink that both of his impromptu visitors have loudly derided on multiple occasions in the past.</p><p>Luke narrows his eyes at the pair of them. “I don’t know what this is a bribe for, but I don’t appreciate it,” he says.</p><p>“So suspicious,” Obi-Wan chides, sipping from his own drink. </p><p>“He gets it from his father,” Qui-Gon replies automatically. </p><p>Luke feels a vein in his temple throb, and allows himself a large gulp of coffee and a full-body sigh. “<em> Hello, </em> Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon. What brings you to my place of business, uninvited, on this fine day?”</p><p>“Do you hear that?” Qui-Gon says to Obi-Wan in a faux-mournful timbre, “At dinner on Saturday I was ‘Poppy,’ but now it’s back to ‘Qui-Gon.’ I don’t know that my old heart can take it.”</p><p>Obi-Wan nods solemnly in sympathy. “The fickle affections of youth.”</p><p>“You’re not that old,” Luke reminds them. “For once I agree with Dad—you two are a bad influence on me.” He aims for deadpan but is unable to completely stifle a laugh. Luke lets Qui-Gon shove his sunglasses into his hair before moving in for a hug, the taller man’s ridiculously long arms wrapping all the way around his shoulders. “Good morning, Poppy. You’re up early.”</p><p>“Imp,” Qui-Gon chuckles, releasing Luke enough to examine his face. “You look tired, Luke.”</p><p>“I chase two dozen pre-K children around for six-to-eight hours a day,” Luke shrugs. He leads them toward the low couch tucked into the corner of the lobby.</p><p>“Are you here alone? Where’s that nice lad that sits up front?”</p><p>Luke rolls his eyes fondly when Obi-Wan insistently pats the seat next to him, but obediently sits. “Finn has an exam this afternoon so I sent him home early. Ahsoka and Ezra are having lunch and watching the kids, but—fingers crossed—they should all be napping soon.” He takes another large mouthful of his coffee, which reminds him that he’s been dashing around non-stop for five hours and is probably dehydrated as well.</p><p>“And when do <em> you </em> eat, hm?” Obi-Wan asks pointedly, reaching to tuck a wayward strand of Luke’s hair back. </p><p>I was <em> about </em>to, Luke is ready to say, but Obi-Wan continues, innocently: “Or are you waiting for some lunchtime company?”</p><p>Luke stiffens, and Qui-Gon sighs. “Played your hand too quickly, Ben,” he murmurs.</p><p>“What are you—Kriff, it was Han, wasn’t it?” Luke groans. He should’ve known that Han would take advantage of their weekly gathering over the weekend to stir up trouble—and that the rest of his family would latch onto any flimsy gossip like the bloodhounds they are. “What did he say to you?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing really—” Qui-Gon says at the same time Obi-Wan corrects, “Actually, it was Ahsoka—”</p><p>“Don’t you people have anything better to do!” Luke despairs. “<em> What, </em>exactly, did Han-and-or-Ahsoka say?”</p><p>“<em>Nothing,” </em> Qui-Gon insists. “Someone <em> may </em> have mentioned that little Ben made a new friend.”</p><p>“And,” Obi-Wan adds, a tell-tale glimmer of chaos in his eye, “<em>someone </em> may have mentioned the handsome young father of said friend who asked you out to lunch.”</p><p>Luke curses his pale complexion, sure that he’s turning an incriminating pink. “He didn’t <em> ask me out, </em> oh my god. He said he <em> might </em> stop by to see <em> his son. </em> Seriously: jobs. Hobbies. These are things people can hypothetically do with their time.”</p><p>“We’ll take it under advisement,” Qui-Gon says, undeterred, “But since we’re here anyway, perhaps you can tell us about—what did Ahsoka say his name was—?”</p><p>As if summoned, the door opens with an abrupt <em> ding! </em> Luke leaps to his feet, instinctively trying to bodily block his godfather and grandfather from view. “Din! Hi!”</p><p>Din stops in the entryway, and eyes the three of them warily. “...Hi,” he says. “Am I interrupting?”</p><p>Luke has approximately a second and half to register the gleeful expressions on their faces as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both turn the full brunt of their attention on Din. <em> Oh boy, </em>he thinks, full of dread.</p><p>“Not at all!” Obi-Wan says jovially. “Please, join us!”</p><p>Luke sighs. Considers, briefly, running away—surely starting over with a new identity isn’t that hard?—before acknowledging that this is going to happen with or without his input. “Be <em> normal, </em> you two,” he hisses at them, though he has little hope that they’ll listen.</p><p>“Hi, Din,” he says again, stepping forward to meet him. “Sorry, come in, the kids are just settling in for naptime now. I can go and check if Grogu is still up, if you want to see him?”</p><p>“No, that’s okay,” Din says after a considered beat. “Don’t wanna disturb anyone.” He sounds a bit awkward—and no wonder: Qui-Gon has stood up to his full height, which Luke has been told is more than a bit intimidating. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, has an expression on his face like he’s trying to analyze Din down to the molecular level through the power of his eyeballs alone. Qui-Gon taps Luke’s elbow, a mild chastisement. </p><p>“Sorry, um, this is my godfather, Obi-Wan, and his father, Qui-Gon. They just stopped by for a quick visit. <em> Very </em> quick,” Luke emphasizes.</p><p>Din accepts Qui-Gon’s massive handshake with admirable tolerance, in Luke’s opinion. “Din Djarin,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p>The next ten minutes are a slow test of Luke’s ability to maintain a pleasantly bland smile on his face while internally imagining ways to dissolve into the floor. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon steadily and cheerfully interrogate Din on everything from his age (“Thirty-three,” Din answers. Luke tries not to think, <em> That’s only seven years older than me, </em> and fails), to his hometown (“Navarro”), to his job (“I’m a security contractor,” which Luke hadn’t actually known). </p><p>“That sounds like a demanding job,” Obi-Wan commiserates. “I imagine it’s hard to be away from your son so much—you said he’s three?” Din nods, and Obi-Wan hums, “I hope you have help…?”</p><p>Din blinks, sounding confused when he says, “...Luke’s really great with Grogu.”</p><p>Obi-Wan seems startled and then—alarmingly—energized by this response. “Then there’s no Mrs. Djarin—?”</p><p>“<em> Okay, </em> Uncle Ben!” Luke interrupts hastily, having reached his limit of overbearing family for the day. “You two should go and have lunch before it gets too late!”</p><p>Mercifully, his godfather lets it drop, and allows Luke to steer him and Qui-Gon to the door. “You’re insufferable people,” he tells them, very seriously, but allows Obi-Wan to clasp a hand to his shoulder as he chuckles in his face.</p><p>“We’ll see you soon,” Qui-Gon says warmly.</p><p>“I hate you both.”</p><p>“I love you very much, Luke,” his godfather tells him, as he always does, because he’s singularly infuriating and impossible to be mad at. Luke remembers why he grew up idolizing Obi-Wan (much to Anakin’s chagrin), and says his goodbyes with a reluctant smile on his face.</p><p>“God, I’m <em> so </em> sorry,” Luke sighs once they’re gone, taking a seat next to Din on the couch, knowing that his face must be permanently flushed red at this point. Combined with the spit-up stains on his shirt, the washable marker smudged on his arms and hands, and the bags under his eyes, he must make quite the sight. </p><p>In comparison, Din looks put-together yet enticingly comfortable, dressed in his usual dark denim and leather jacket, a pair of tinted glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt, revealing a glimpse of collarbone. Luke’s gaze lingers there for a moment, before he controls himself. </p><p>“They’re nice,” Din says, which is charitable of him, Luke thinks.</p><p>“They’re nosy busy-bodies,” Luke says. “My family is filled with them, in case you hadn’t noticed.”</p><p>Din smiles at this; a genuine one, understanding and a little envious. “If you don’t mind me asking—they don’t look much like one another…?”</p><p>“They sure act like one another, though, huh?” Luke chuckles. “Yeah, Qui-Gon fostered and then adopted Obi-Wan when he was thirteen. Raised him on his own, basically. My dad—his mom was a single parent, too—he and Obi-Wan were friends growing up, despite the age difference. From that they tell us, Obi-Wan was the first person to hold my sister and I when we were born, so,” Luke shrugs, “We’re close.”</p><p>“I can tell,” Din says. “It’s...somewhat similar to how I grew up. Non-traditionally, I mean.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah. I was fostered as an older kid, too,” Din says. Luke finds himself nearly holding his breath, hoping that he doesn’t look too eager. “Grew up more-or-less communally, with a lot of aunts and uncles. And, uh, obviously I adopted Grogu as well.”</p><p>He pauses. “It’s important,” Din says, a thoughtful look on his face. “The family we choose.”</p><p>Luke feels a shiver snake up from the base of his spine. </p><p>“It is,” he agrees, quietly. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re a really great dad. Grogu’s a lucky kid, to have you caring for him.”</p><p>Din’s mouth twists up a little as some raw emotion flashes over his face. He releases an audible breath, slow. </p><p>“I have good help,” he says to Luke, who stares at the way his mustache quirks up when he smiles. “I meant it, before; you and your staff are great with him. I know the kid can be a handful, but he loves it here.”</p><p>Luke swallows against a lump in his throat. He realizes he’s leaned in closer to Din, unable to help the goofy smile on his face. “Well, he <em> does </em> like to put a lot of things in his mouth,” he jokes, a little wobbly.</p><p>Din chuckles. “Yeah, no kidding.”</p><p>Although it feels like longer, they probably only chat for another five or ten minutes before Ezra pops his head out of his classroom, eyes Din for a moment, and reminds Luke to eat lunch. </p><p>“Yeah, I will. <em> I will,” </em> he says, when Ezra scowls at him distrustfully. </p><p>“Eat, or I’m taking that job offer at Hondo’s!”</p><p>“Over my dead body,” Luke says. “Over <em> Obi-Wan’s </em>dead body, Ezra!”</p><p>Ignoring this, Ezra warns, “You better not have just packed three protein bars again,” before retreating.</p><p>“It was <em> twice,” </em> Luke sighs, to himself, because Ezra already knows that it was actually, like, four times, and won’t hesitate to correct him.</p><p>“...Really?” Din says, judgmentally.</p><p>“I forget sometimes! It’s not a big deal!” Luke defends himself, “There’s plenty of places that serve lunch on this block, anyway.”</p><p>“Uh-huh. And do you ever let yourself take a break to <em> go </em> to these places?”</p><p><em> Damn. </em> Luke scoffs, and lies, “Yes, of course.” Din raises an eyebrow at him. “Well what about you, huh? Isn’t this <em> your </em> lunch break, too? I don’t see any lunch between the two of us.”</p><p>Din pauses and eyes him appraisingly. “I was planning to drop in again on Friday. I’ll…bring lunch,” he says, a little hesitantly, “So we both eat, for once.”</p><p>Luke blinks in surprise, and firmly tells himself not to read into the offer. “You don’t have to do that,” he says. “I’m an adult, you know. I pay taxes and everything.”</p><p>“I want to,” Din says, earnestly. “That sandwich shop on the corner looks good.”</p><p>Luke, ignoring the fluttering in his chest, smiles. “Well, alright. That sounds nice.”</p><p>Din has to leave soon after. He pauses after he gets up from Luke’s couch, taps his fingers against his thigh as if resisting the urge to fidget. “I was going to ask…” he trails off.</p><p>“Is something wrong?” Luke asks. He reminds himself that Din has complemented his daycare and Luke’s specific teaching abilities—he’s not going to withdraw his son from his class with no warning, despite the swoop of irrational worry in Luke’s belly.</p><p>“...Nothing,” Din says. “It can wait.”</p><p>“Uh, right,” Luke says, and hopes that his face isn’t doing something stupid. “Friday. Um, lunch.”</p><p>Din tilts his head slightly without breaking eye contact, and flashes Luke a quicksilver smile, there and gone again. “Lunch,” he confirms.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>5.</p><p>When Luke gets a call on Friday at <em> four-thirty in the morning, </em>he considers throwing his phone directly into the trash can. Unfortunately, it’s both too far away and probably wouldn’t stop it vibrating anyway.</p><p>“<em>Mrph,” </em> he says when he manages to stab the call button, his eyes still firmly closed.</p><p>“Good morning, Luke!” comes his mother’s voice, perfectly clear and awake.</p><p>“<em>Ughhloud,” </em> Luke whines.</p><p>“Sorry, baby. I just wanted to call and let you know that I have a meeting on your side of town this morning,” Padmé says. Luke can hear her heels clacking in the background, sounding as if she’s marching down the hardwood-floored hallways of her office building. “So I’ll stop by after, alright? I wanted to drop off a few things for Ben.”</p><p>“<em>Flehgurh,” </em> Luke says.</p><p>“Great. I’ll see you then. Love you, sweetheart!” </p><p>It takes Luke a few seconds too long to realize Padmé’s hung up already. He allows his phone arm to flop against his pillow. “Shit,” he mutters.</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Oh god, oh god. </p><p>His <em> mom </em> is coming. </p><p>Luke spends the entire morning—between chasing, comforting, and cleaning up after the kids—obsessively fixing his hair (it’s too long, right? He’s overdue for a haircut, by, like, three weeks at least, she’s going to notice) and smoothing out his black t-shirt, as if that’ll somehow turn it into something Padmé will approve of (she won’t, he knows. She comments about the lack of color in his wardrobe at least once a month, and keeps gifting him silk button-downs during the holidays, as if he has cause to wear anything that he can’t afford to stain with formula and mashed peas everyday).</p><p>“You’re overreacting,” Ahsoka tells him, watching him pace around while aggressively gathering up stuffed toys, her palms raised in front of her as if Luke’s an agitated animal. “It’s just <em> Padmé. </em> Calm down.”</p><p>Luke scoffs in response, which he can admit isn’t very mature of him.</p><p>“It’s <em> your mom. </em>You literally saw her a week ago at dinner,” Ahsoka reminds him.</p><p>Luke knows all of this, obviously. But he doesn’t know how to explain that it’s <em> different, </em> to have Padmé <em> here, </em> at his little daycare with its mismatched carpeting and fluorescent lighting. It doesn’t matter that she’s visited many times before; it doesn’t quite temper the irrational worry that there’s something <em> lacking </em>that she’ll see, every time. He could’ve interned in her office, once; could very well have been a governor’s aide by age twenty-five, if he’d followed her advice in college instead of Obi-Wan’s. It’s been years, but Luke still feels vaguely guilty and inadequate about it all. </p><p>Not that he’s willing to dredge all that up aloud, now. And, as Ahsoka said, she’s <em> his mother</em>, so Luke thinks he has a right to feel some general anxiety in the face of her judgement, no matter what.</p><p>All of his fretting means that he’s forgotten all about he and Din’s lunch plans until the moment that the other man walks in dressed in that lovely jacket of his—right on the heels of Luke’s mother, for whom he politely holds the door. “Ma’am,” he murmurs, when Padmé gives him her most placid politician’s smile in thanks.</p><p>“Heads up, boss,” Finn hisses at him from the front desk, the only warning Luke gets.</p><p>“Oh shit,” Luke blurts out, standing in the middle of the lobby with his hand caught in mid-air as he fusses with his hair again. “I mean, uh. Hi!” he says, not sure to whom he’s speaking exactly.</p><p>“Hey—” Din says, at the same time Padmé reaches for Luke’s face. “Oh, Luke, are you eating properly?”</p><p>Luke obediently leans down to allow his mother to buss his cheek gently with her own, careful not to smear her lipstick or snag her hair when he hugs her. “I’m <em> fine, </em> Mom,” he huffs, getting a noseful of her perfume—today it’s the sweet, inoffensive floral blend she favors when working out of office. She’s dressed in a sharply tailored dress and matching blazer, a large canvas bag over her shoulder, along with her usual leather portfolio purse.</p><p>“Look, see; my friend Din brought me real food and everything,” Luke says, shooting Din an apologetic wince over Padmé’s shoulder. </p><p>“Uh.” To his credit, Din rallies quickly and says, “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t know what you’d prefer,” he says to Luke, setting a takeaway bag on the corner of the front desk, “I got a turkey club and a vegetarian wrap—I’ll have whichever one you don’t want.”</p><p>“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” Luke says, smiling at him gratefully as he makes the obligatory introductions. “This is my mother, Senator Padmé Amidala. And this is Din Djarin, his son is in my class. Hold on; let me ask Ezra if Grogu is asleep yet—”</p><p>Padmé levels Luke with a shrewd stare. “Djarin? The one Ben was talking about?”</p><p>“Yes, Din’s <em> son, </em> Grogu, is friends with <em> little Ben,” </em>Luke hastens to say, sending a silent thanks to Leia for being hormonal and loopy from the epidural when she’d decided to name her son after Obi-Wan. From behind the tall counter of Finn’s desk comes a stifled snickering, which Luke manfully pretends not to hear. He glances at Din, who’s hovering stiffly a few steps away, seemingly unsure if he should retreat to the couch in the corner and sit down, or come closer and join the conversation.</p><p>“You said on the phone you were dropping some stuff off?” Luke reminds Padmé, guiltily hoping that she’ll be too busy to linger and follow-up on the dangerous look on her face—the one that says she’s noticed something and won’t rest until she confronts it.</p><p>Mercifully, Padmé says, “Your sister mentioned that she wanted to donate some of the leftover baby supplies that she was storing in our attic,” and hands her canvas bag to Luke. A quick glance inside reveals unopened packages of baby wipes, diapers, pacifiers, and several of the many crib-sized blankets that Leia and Han had been gifted when Ben was a baby—most of which had been made superfluous when he’d predictably latched onto one and refused the use of any other.</p><p>“Oh, this is great!” Luke says happily. While they ask parents to provide supplies for their kids, they’re never not in need of extras. “Thanks for bringing them over, Mom. We can really use these.”</p><p>“Of course, honey, it’s no problem,” Padmé says warmly, squeezing Luke’s hand fondly and sparing a glance for Din. “Now, then, I can get out of your hair—I don’t want to interrupt your date!”</p><p> Luke sighs. “Mom, it’s not—”</p><p>“It’s not a date,” Din interrupts. Luke stares at him, as his stomach drops uncomfortably. He’d been about to say the exact same thing, of course, but.</p><p>Well.</p><p>Padmé waves a hand dismissively, “Oh, your <em> hangout, </em> or whatever you kids call it these days,” she says, breezily. <em> Mercilessly, </em>Luke thinks through the veil of his embarrassment. </p><p>“Nothing like that,” Din insists, shifting his weight from one booted foot to the other, stiffly.</p><p>Luke clears his throat, nodding woodenly. “No, it’s not like that, Mom. Din’s just stopping in to see Grogu, and he’s been nice enough to keep me company during lunch while he’s here.” </p><p>Padmé, undeterred, smiles at Din challengingly, “Well that’s lovely of you, Mr. Djarin. You know, Luke’s father and I shared many meals when we were first getting to know each other. We danced around each other for quite a while, you know.”</p><p>“Mom—”</p><p>“One thing I learned from the experience was not to take my feelings for granted—you never know what’s going to happen, and you might miss your chance,” Padmé continues, relentless. “I assume you don’t have a partner, Din—?” </p><p>Horrified, Luke snaps, “Mom, <em> stop it.” </em> </p><p>He glares as Padmé purses her lips minutely, the only sign that she’s displeased by his chastisement. “I apologize, Din. As my kids—and my staff—will tell you, I have a tendency to reminisce.”</p><p>Luke swallows his frustration, trying to ignore how hot his face feels as he avoids making eye contact with either of them. Behind his desk, Finn has gone entirely silent and still, no longer even pretending to be typing. </p><p>He glances over their heads at the clock on the wall, though he doesn’t see or register the time, and says, “Sorry, I need to go and check in with the children. Excuse me.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Ahsoka and Ezra, no doubt having heard more or less everything, charitably allow Luke to escape into his classroom, where his kids are in the middle of naptime. Ezra slides out of the door without a word, though he claps Luke gently on the arm as he passes. He heads into Ahsoka’s classroom across the hall at the same time that she goes into the lobby to greet Padmé and Din.</p><p>Even though he knows he shouldn’t, Luke strains to hear the muffled conversations in the lobby from behind the closed door of his classroom—a drawn-out silence; a few awkward-sounding words exchanged; the <em> ding </em> of the front door opening and closing once, then again a minute later. </p><p>In the dim, partially soundproofed classroom, Luke checks on the kids on autopilot, tucking in a stray arm or leg here and there; soothing a Wookie toddler when she starts to fuss in her sleep. Grogu is bundled into his cot as usual, gently teething with a hand in his mouth. Luke strokes the top of his head once, featherlight, before forcing himself to move on.</p><p>After making two slow circles around the room, Luke settles himself into the squishy adult-sized chair in the corner and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. </p><p>Eventually, the door opens with a barely audible click. Ahsoka enters and places a wrapped sandwich into his hands. </p><p>“Here,” she says, in a whisper. “You need to eat.”</p><p>Luke shakes his head, but doesn’t actually deny it. Ahsoka allows him his silence for a long minute, which he’s thankful for. </p><p>“He left his lunch?” he asks eventually, though it’s not even close to the top of the list of things he’s thinking.</p><p>“No,” Ahsoka says. “He left yours. He wanted to make sure you had it.” She hesitates, and brushes a soft hand over the side of his head. “You’re okay?” </p><p>Luke shrugs. “Yeah.”</p><p>She clearly doesn’t believe him, but Ahsoka sighs and doesn’t push. “Tell me if that changes, Little Skyguy.”</p><p>After she returns to her own classroom, Luke unwraps half of the club sandwich dejectedly, feeling—well. Feeling tired, and stupid, and small. Like maybe he did something <em> wrong, </em> because… </p><p>Because he finds Din attractive. Because he’s disproportionately fond of Grogu, more than he should be for just another kid in his class. And because, despite the embarrassment they’d caused, he’s still perversely pleased that Din had gotten to meet some of his family these past couple of weeks. </p><p>Because this is his <em> job, </em> a job that he’d worked hard to build and to do properly, and it’s just—it’s <em> unprofessional </em> of him, to feel this way.</p><p>Even more unprofessional, he admits silently, is that he’s so disappointed by the confirmation that Din <em> obviously </em> doesn’t feel the same. The flush of humiliation had been, more than anything, due to the displeased furrow in Din’s brow, the way his jaw had stiffened and flexed in discomfort, in the wake of Padmé’s unsubtle insinuations. It stings, the realization that Luke had, maybe, been hoping for some—some imagined rom-com scenario in which the pretty single dad would take time out of his clearly busy life to want Luke back. </p><p>Ridiculous.</p><p>The sandwich is probably good, but Luke barely tastes it.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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</p><p>+1.</p><p>Luke leaves his mother a brief but apologetic voicemail on her office landline instead of her mobile—he’s sorry for letting her leave on such a sour note, but he’s not ready for an actual conversation about it.  </p><p>He busies himself with work for the rest of the afternoon, grateful when there’s a big glue-and-glitter mess that takes the better part of an hour to contain and clean up after, because at least the frustration of menial work distracts him from lingering on the memory of Din’s twisted frown. </p><p>By half past five, Luke's tired enough that he’s thinking of nothing but getting through the drive back to his apartment, collapsing into bed and sleeping until noon. </p><p>Then Din arrives at the Academy with a startlingly beautiful woman in tow. </p><p>It’s the height of the pickup rush, so there are half a dozen other parents here already, helping their kids put on jackets and zip their art projects into backpacks. Luke looks up from where he’s helping a human boy untangle the laces on his sneakers, and freezes. “<em>Kark,” </em> he hisses, as his heart starts trying to beat its way up his throat in protest.</p><p>“Swear jar,” the boy murmurs reproachfully at him, and Luke winces as he passes him off to his parent.</p><p>Luke’s kneeling on the ground, partially hidden in the crowd, so he’s free to observe her—them. The woman is human, looks about Din’s age, with long dark hair tucked behind one ear and a smooth tan complexion, a quirked smile on her face as she says something to Din and places her hand on his bicep. Their bodies sway close, speaking of familiarity. Din smiles back at her, in that wry, self-deprecating way he does sometimes and says something back. Luke, frozen in place, has a hard time looking away from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.</p><p>They’re just so pretty next to one another, laments some pathetic thing in his chest. </p><p>She’s never shown up at the daycare before. With a swoop low in his stomach, Luke realizes: Din must’ve been so off-put by the whole thing this afternoon—and probably by all the overbearing interactions he’s had here lately—that he felt like he had to bring in his—partner?—so that Luke would finally get the damn message that he isn’t interested. </p><p>Shame crawls over the back of Luke's neck. He feels his shoulders curling in defensively and he screws his eyes shut and takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to push past the rush of humiliation. God, how fucking embarrassing.</p><p>“Luke,” Din’s voice says a short moment later, closer than Luke had expected. He startles, hastening to stand up. </p><p>“Hi,” Luke says, forcing his face and voice to be <em> normal, dammit. </em> He stares at a spot to the left of Din's face, which, inconveniently, is where the woman is standing. Only just managing to suppress a wince, Luke turns instead towards his classroom. “Grogu should be just about ready to go,” he reports. “He was finishing up a puzzle, a few minutes ago.”</p><p>To Luke's surprise, the woman speaks up first. “I can help him get packed up.” She catches Luke's eye and smiles, not unkindly. “I’m Omera.”</p><p>“Luke. Nice to meet you, Omera,” Luke manages.</p><p>Omera pauses and examines him, her piercing eyes reminding him uncomfortably of Leia. Her expression softens a touch. “I'm Din's neighbor,” she explains, “I’m on babysitting duty tonight.”</p><p>“Oh,” Luke says, struggling for an appropriate response. He's not quite sure what’s happening.</p><p>“Thanks again,” Din says to Omera, “I’ll text you when I’m home.”</p><p>Omera smirks, teasing and wicked this time. “Take your time. Winta would be ecstatic to have a sleepover with Grogu, as you know.”</p><p>Din levels her with a flat stare, and she laughs as she disappears down the hall. In her wake, he runs a hand through his dark curls—a nervous gesture that Luke hasn’t seen before. “Sorry about her,” he says to Luke ruefully. “I called her last-minute, and she’s not gonna let me live it down anytime soon.”</p><p>“What,” Luke says, helplessly confused.</p><p>“About earlier,” Din says, brows furrowed. “Uh, I’m sorry for—I know you didn’t want—” he breaks off with a huff. “There aren’t any more of your family members hiding around here, are there?”  </p><p>Luke, unable to make sense of any of that—and unbalanced by the uncharacteristically scattered thoughts from a man who’s usually so reserved and precise in his use of language—says, “Well, Ahsoka’s still around here somewhere. But. No?”</p><p>Din blinks at him, and Luke hastens to add, “Um, I’m sorry, about, you know, all of them. My mom, implying—and, uh, all of them. I know they can be a lot. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, when you’re trusting me, <em> us, </em> to look after Grogu.”</p><p>“Luke,” Din interrupts gently, raising his palm to halt the deluge. “You don’t need to… Actually, I think <em> I </em>should apologize.”</p><p>“What?” Luke boggles. “What for?”</p><p>Din’s face is open and earnest—<em>brave</em>—when he looks Luke in the eyes and says, “Earlier, I said that lunch wasn’t a date. It...hurt you. I think. You should correct me if I’m wrong. But I wanted you to know, I didn’t mean…”</p><p>Luke realizes that he’s holding his breath. “What did you mean, Din?”</p><p>“I wanted to ask you out—on a date.<em> Properly. </em> I meant… I want to do this right,” Din says, and doesn’t flinch, even as he realizes that he’s leaned into Luke’s space and sways back half a step. He amends, softer, “...If you’re interested.”</p><p>If Luke were thinking more clearly, he might be able to fully appreciate how captivating Din is in this moment: shoulders squared but posture soft, big brown eyes earnest and somehow warm even in the fluorescent overhead lighting. As it is, Luke only sighs, “<em> Oh,” </em> around a swell of hope and distant arousal, wildly and helplessly charmed.</p><p>“Is that—”</p><p>“Yes!” Luke blurts, eyes wide. “Um, yes. Yeah. I’m interested.” </p><p>Watching the relief sweep over Din’s face is viscerally satisfying. Hearing him say, “Me too,” his voice dropped into a lower, more intimate pitch even moreso. </p><p>“Would you like to go to dinner with me tonight, Luke?” Din asks, and then, “Uh, or—whenever works—”  </p><p>“No, no,” Luke says, giddy with it, “I’m free tonight.” The exhaustion of the afternoon has evaporated like steam under sunlight—Luke is suddenly wide awake, in disbelief but eager nonetheless.</p><p>“Good,” Din says. </p><p>They spend who knows how long grinning at one another, interrupted only when Sabine brushes past them and mutters, “Oh my god, <em> please </em> get out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>After being unceremoniously ejected from the building by Luke’s staff for “being gross,” Din had shyly suggested a diner he’d heard about that wasn’t too far away, and offered to drive. To Luke’s delight, he leads them sheepishly to a sleek motorcycle in a gunmetal finish, and hands Luke a black helmet to match his silver one. </p><p>“You don’t usually drive this,” Luke notices, grinning as he quickly realizes the implications, “I <em> definitely </em> would’ve noticed.”</p><p>“You like it?” Din asks, over-casual as he slings a long leg over the seat. Luke feels his mouth dry out, and hurries to follow suit.</p><p>It would have been a snug fit for two grown men no matter what, but Luke situates himself closer than he strictly needs to, thrilling at the way Din twitches when he wraps his arms around his waist. “I can show you how much,” he murmurs, <em> almost </em> too low to be heard as Din fishes out his keys and the bike rumbles to life underneath them.</p><p>“Not while I’m driving,” Din replies, his grin audible through the helmet. Luke laughs, and holds on tight, nearly dizzy as he suddenly imagines the future—tonight, yes, but also beyond—spilling out along the street in front of them like scattered starlight.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t heard of Boba Fett?”</p><p>They’d parked the bike on a side street, opting to walk the couple blocks to the diner. Luke shakes his head incredulously, trying not to laugh out loud at the disgruntled expression on Din’s face. </p><p>“Should I have?”</p><p>“The Fetts, they’re a huge family—they run, like, half the businesses in town. Boba’s dad, Jango Fett, practically built the East side, and he had, like, a million kids. Cody, he owns that coffee shop down the street from me, and his brother Rex manages that queer bar a few blocks away. He and Ahsoka are really tight.”</p><p>Din grumps, “Have you ever considered that your family just knows everyone in this city?” In contrast to his tone, he matches his pace to Luke’s so that they gently bump shoulders, their hands brushing against one another.</p><p>Luke rolls his eyes, but dares to catch and curl his hand into Din’s gloved one. He beams when Din allows it, and even gives Luke’s palm a gentle squeeze. “We don’t know <em> everyone—” </em> he starts to say. Cuts himself as he looks away from the Din’s face for long enough to register the very familiar diner doors they’ve arrived at. “—shit.”</p><p>“What’s wrong,” Din asks, sounding worried.</p><p>“Uh,” Luke says, unable to help the outpour of giggles. “Sorry, nothing—just, I know this place—”</p><p><em> “Is that Luke Skywalker?!” </em> comes a booming voice from inside, and Luke fights off a second, incredulous wave of laughter at Din’s alarm when a huge, four-armed, apron-wearing shape barrels toward the glass door and swings it open with a <em> bang! </em> </p><p>“Hi, Dex,” Luke laughs, not bothering to resist as he’s engulfed in a <em> very </em> large hug. He pats the Besalisk’s back, being much too short to reach much higher.</p><p>Once they’ve been led to Luke’s usual booth in the corner, Din says, “Really,” deadpan, as he sits down and takes off his gloves and jacket.</p><p>“Dex is an old family friend,” Luke explains, apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t think to clarify where you were taking us. Leia and I used to come here nearly every other week with my Uncle Ben, when we were kids.” Din’s expression doesn’t change, and Luke chuckles again. “Look on the bright side: I can confirm that Dex’s is <em> the </em> best, so at least you know you have good taste!”</p><p>Delighted, Luke watches as Din’s eyes, expressive as they are, spark and soften as he rewards Luke with a small, fond smile. </p><p>“I know I do,” he says, quiet. Luke blushes, his own smile going wide and goofy as he reaches across the table for Din’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>On the way out several hours later, Luke sternly says, “Don’t tell Obi-Wan about this,” though he knows it’s a lost cause already. </p><p>“Mm-hmm,” Dex grunts. Luke can practically hear all four sets of his fingers itching for his phone. He already knows he’s going to wake up to a text from Leia with a grainy picture of him and Din holding hands in Dex’s booth. </p><p>It’s hard to care, Luke thinks, when he’s high on the joy of what’s already been, by far, the best date of his life—they’d both been startled to discover how much time had passed, engrossed in one another. Din, so taciturn when he’d been just another parent amongst many in the context of the daycare, had sedately but steadily opened up over dinner, describing his work and telling sweet stories about his son; asking Luke about his own family and listening intently to Luke’s dumb college stories. Luke, already falling, couldn’t help but turn towards the building warmth between them, covetous.</p><p>“Well, I tried,” Luke says, breezily, zipping up his coat as they slip into the stream of pedestrian traffic. It’s busier now than it was when they arrived, as the nightlife crowd swells into the city.</p><p>“A nice effort,” Din praises. A trio of college students rushes past them, and Din slips an arm around Luke’s back, sheltering him from their exuberant elbows. “This okay?” he murmurs, close enough that Luke can feel his breath against his temple. </p><p>“Definitely,” Luke says, angling closer, thrilling as he presses his hand firmly on Din’s waist. It doesn’t exactly make navigating the crowd easier, but Din smiles as he tucks Luke more snugly under his arm, and doesn’t stop smiling the entire way back to his bike. </p><p>Luke stops Din with a gentle tug before he moves to unlock their helmets. “Hey,” he breathes, stepping in so that they’re facing one another. His face is chilled from the breeze, nearly painful from grinning all night. </p><p>“Hey,” Din says, his eyes zeroing in on Luke’s lips. He pulls Luke in closer, so that his voice rumbles through both their chests, zinging in the scant inches of air between them.</p><p>Din’s only a couple inches taller than him, so it’s remarkably easy for Luke to lean in and catch his lips, relishing the way he has to gently stretch <em> upwards, </em> just a little. It makes him feel sheltered by the firm bulk of Din’s solid shoulders—safe; rather than loomed over. Luke’s hyper-aware of all the places they’re touching, and shivers violently when Din’s hand comes up to rest against the base of his neck in a soft cradle. </p><p>The kiss lands like a whisper and an electric shock all at once—both unremarkable in its simplicity and unlike any kiss Luke has ever shared.</p><p>“<em>Gods,” </em> Din exhales, sounding about as shocked as Luke feels. Some last reserve cracks open in his chest at the sound. </p><p>“I like you<em> so much,” </em> Luke sighs into the soft skin of Din’s neck. “Tell me I’m not alone here,” he pleads, twisting his hands into Din’s leather jacket even though he <em> knows </em> the answer, he already <em> knows, </em> struck near-boneless with a clarifying certainty.</p><p>Din’s hands come up to Luke’s face, his arms bracketing and holding Luke in place, preventing him from floating away like he half-believes he could, right now. Din never put his riding gloves back on, so Luke gets to lean into the warm shelter of his bare palms. He opens his eyes to the view of Din’s pupils blown wide and awed, reflecting like burnished gold in the phosphorescent  streetlamp light.</p><p>“You’re not alone,” Din tells him, solemn like a vow. </p><p> </p><p>— </p><p> </p><p>Luke wakes up warm—nearly too warm, a heavy, solid arm draped over his waist and a wall of bare skin pressed against his back, from his ankles up to his neck, where mustache is tickling his nape.</p><p>“Good morning,” Din murmurs into his skin, right up against that spot behind Luke’s ear that makes him twitch all over. </p><p>“Cheater,” Luke hisses, arching into it. </p><p>“I found this fair and square,” Din says. His voice is still raspy with sleep, his fingers trailing over Luke’s skin like he’s something precious. </p><p>They linger in bed without escalating, simply relishing in the newfound intimacy. Eventually, Din sighs. “I need to pick up Grogu soon,” he says, apologetic.</p><p>Luke takes an extra minute to touch the corner of Din’s eye, stroking his fingertip over the plane of his cheek, dipping over his jawline and down to his lower lip. Din allows it patiently, his eyes never straying from Luke’s. </p><p>“I know,” Luke says. “It’s okay.”</p><p>He lets Din have the first turn in the shower and heads into the kitchen to rummage for food, trading off stove duty when Din comes in, his hair curled and damp, dressed in yesterday’s t-shirt and jeans. Din catches his jaw before he can leave, drawing him into a slow, magnetic kiss. </p><p>“Don’t start something we don’t have time to finish,” Luke teases as they part, enjoying the simmering heat between them. Din lets him escape into the bathroom with a grumble, clearly reluctant but obediently stirring the eggs before they can burn. </p><p>They share a simple, unhurried breakfast—toast and scrambled eggs and some strawberries that Luke was shocked to find hadn’t gone bad yet—their knees pressed together under the table. </p><p>It hits Luke anew, as he stands barefoot in the entryway of his apartment watching Din pull on his boots, the thrill of this miraculous but solid thing they’ve discovered between them in less than twenty-four hours. It’s enough that it should’ve sent at least one of them running, probably. And yet.</p><p>After he pulls on his jacket, Din stares at him for a moment. “I had a good time,” he says, so achingly honest that Luke closes the distance between them to press his smile against Din’s. “Me too.”</p><p>“Thank you for not letting my family scare you off,” Luke jokes into the plush of Din’s lips, reluctantly parting after another drawn out kiss. </p><p>Din chuckles, and squeezes Luke’s hand. “Well… I haven’t met your father yet.”</p><p>Luke barks a laugh, before the thought penetrates and he winces. </p><p>“Maybe we’ll wait a little bit on that introduction, hm?”</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>end.</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- Title from ‘Sunlight’ by Hozier. (Here's my <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3MT9nVznSucKop7AyF6QUt?si=9548a39b6c0948c2">dinluke playlist</a> in case u also want soft vibes)<br/>- Only did a little tampering with everyone’s relative ages—Luke and Leia are about 26; Obi-Wan is 8 years older than Anakin; Finn is aged up to be roughly 19. Everyone else’s relative age differences are intact. Uh, except Grogu, I guess? Pretend like he’ll age like a normal humanoid species, or that the very long lifespan won’t cause a bunch of angst in this universe somehow.<br/>- I have no experience as a childcare worker and from cursory googling I probably fudged a lot of daycare requirements/logistics. Apologies to any readers working in childcare.</p><p>Me: just realized that there’s not an anakin section, what a missed opportunity<br/>Me: but appropriate bc anakin would HATE being left out<br/>Melissa: he should get one sentence in the notes afterwards 😌😌😌<br/>Me: a month later, he smugly asks padmé and obi-wan over dinner if they’ve heard about “this din guy” luke is dating. padmé &amp; obi-wan just look at each other like jim from the office.</p><p>find <a href="https://dee-lirious.tumblr.com/">me</a> and <a href="https://dee-lirious.tumblr.com/post/643663301669175296/like-a-moth-to-you-sunlight-deelirious-star">this fic</a> on tumblr.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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